


When You Fall

by beckettemory



Category: Leverage
Genre: (that makes it sound worse than it really is), Aftermath of a Bad Fall, Gen, Injury, Learning to trust, Thievery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: Parker's harness doesn't slow her down enough when she jumps off an eight story building and she lands hard. Eliot couldn't do enough to keep her from hitting the ground, but he can try to patch her up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: falling from really high up, mention of guns, injury (of course), in depth descriptions of joint injuries, mentions of medication, mention of hurting an injured joint further, mentions of surgery and doctors, slightly coercive medical treatment (opportunities given to refuse but just in case)

_ “Parker, get out NOW.”  _

Something wasn’t right, Eliot knew as soon as he saw Parker at the edge of the roof. She was coming too fast, at the wrong angle, for her harness to catch her right. He was next to the van, thirty yards from the landing site, but he sprinted forward nonetheless. A bad fall from eight stories up could kill, easily, even if Parker  _ was _ almost superhuman. 

“Eliot!” Nate called from the van, but Eliot ignored him and kept going. 

He kept his eyes trained on Parker as she fell, her harness slowing her down a little but nowhere near enough. As she passed the fourth floor her expression changed from its usual enthusiasm at jumping off buildings to growing horror as she realized her harness wasn’t doing enough. 

Eliot was too far away to position himself properly, and he just barely caught Parker, sending both of them to the ground, Parker catching herself against the grass at the edge of the parking lot with one hand. Eliot was knocked sideways to the grass as Parker’s torso landed across his outstretched arm, but he wasn’t injured that he could tell. 

There was no time to check that Parker was okay. They had to get out of there. The most time he could spare was making sure she was alive and conscious, and she was, so he swiftly pulled the quick-release on her harness line and hauled both of them to their feet. 

“Go!” he urged, shoving her lightly towards the van and taking off after her. He shot a glance up at the building as they ran and saw half a dozen of the security guards he’d taken down earlier looking over the edge of the roof. He heard an alarm start to sound from the other side of the building where the lobby door was, and after a moment it got louder as the lobby door opened, accompanied by running footsteps. 

He picked up the pace, grabbing Parker by the wrist and pulling her faster. 

Nate had the back door of the van open, and Hardison was waiting in the driver’s seat, the engine running. Eliot shoved Parker into the van and climbed in himself, barely making sure Parker had pulled her feet in before he pulled the doors closed. 

“Drive!” he yelled at Hardison, his exclamation punctuated by a gunshot, and Hardison stepped on the gas. 

When they had soundly evaded the Bakersfield security guards, Eliot rearranged himself to be comfier in the back of the van and caught his breath as Nate moved to the passenger seat. Only then did he really get a good look at Parker. 

She was pale, shrunk back into the corner, and clutched her hands to her chest. 

“Park?” he asked. 

Parker shook her head hard, eyes wide. 

Eliot frowned and moved a little closer. “You hurt?” 

Nate turned around in his seat and frowned at Eliot, then craned his neck to try to see Parker. 

She shook her head again, a little too quickly. “It’s fine.” 

Nate looked at Eliot again, and Eliot waved him off. 

“Don’t, alright?” Eliot said to Parker, trying not to get irritated. 

“Parker hurt?” Hardison asked, looking in the rearview mirror and then swerving a little when the movement caused him to drift in the lane. 

“Just drive,” Eliot snapped. 

“Uh, El,” Nate said. “We’ve got to… lay low for a while. You wanna…?” He gestured to Parker. 

“Take me home, Hardison,” Parker called, her voice quieter than usual but with a wild edge. 

“Nope,” Eliot said. “My house.” 

Parker glared at him, setting her jaw, and Eliot sighed internally, preparing himself for a fight. 

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she snapped. 

“I know you don’t,” Eliot said.  _ “Most  _ of the time, but I know what you do when you’re hurt. You disappear, you don’t take care of your injuries, an’ then you complain when you don’t heal fast enough.” 

Parker narrowed her eyes and put her nose in the air.

“Yes you do,” Eliot said, pointing an accusatory finger before she could let out a retort. 

“It’s true, yeah,” Nate chimed in from the passenger seat. 

Parker pouted and slumped down, still keeping her hands clutched to her chest. 

She didn’t speak again, and Eliot took it as a win. “My house, Hardison,” he called. 

“Kay,” Hardison responded. 

Eliot let her sit in silence until they got to his house. He pretended not to notice when she pulled her hands away from her chest and squinted at one of them. 

The rest of the way there Nate and Hardison discussed the job and ways to come back from this hiccup, and Eliot took stock of himself. He’d gotten a couple of bruises during his fight and a couple of his knuckles were split, but nothing else that he could tell. When he’d finished his physical inventory he thought through his inventory of medical supplies at home. He  _ should _ have everything he might need to fix Parker up, assuming she didn’t need surgery. 

Finally, Hardison pulled up to Eliot’s house. It was a little thing, nestled far back on the lot in a cul-de-sac, and that was how he liked it. 

“Need any supplies?” Nate called, almost as an afterthought, as Eliot coaxed Parker out of the van. 

“No,” Eliot replied, shooing Parker up the path. “Keep us posted about the job.” 

“Sure thing.” 

When Eliot had bullied Parker all the way up to and into the house, he closed the door and set off on his usual perimeter checks. He heard Parker flump onto the couch in the living room and practically felt her pouting, and he rolled his eyes. 

His little house was simply furnished; he didn’t expect to stay in Boston very long. All of his furnishings were comfortable, but fairly basic, in blues and browns and greys. The only things he’d put much of an effort into when he moved in were the security and the kitchen, and both were top of the line. Otherwise it was just an old, slightly rickety house. On his days off he gardened in his little patch out back and fixed up the house, replacing and painting window frames and tearing up and replacing the hardwood floors. When he eventually moved out he would sell it for way more than he’d bought it for. 

When he completed his perimeter circuit and ended up back in the living room he beckoned Parker over to the kitchen table. She reluctantly sat with her right arm held to her chest, and he sat across from her. 

“What hurts?” he asked. 

Parker pursed her lips and hesitated, then slowly put her arm on the table between them. 

“Thank you,” Eliot said softly. As annoyed as he was that she kept neglecting her own health, he also knew how hard it was for her to trust other people, especially when she was hurt. 

Eliot carefully picked up her arm and turned it over, keeping his hands as gentle as he could, but she still winced. Her wrist was swollen pretty badly, and there was a little bit of bruising on the inside of her wrist, but it didn’t seem particularly misshapen and her hand wasn’t limp. Both good signs. 

“You land on it wrong?” Eliot asked. 

Parker nodded. “Like this,” she said, and demonstrated with her other hand, putting her palm flat on the table and pushing her wrist forward to a 90 degree angle, and then a little farther, the heel of her hand coming off the surface. 

Eliot nodded. “Alright, go like this for me,” he instructed, then bent his own wrist forward and back. He supported Parker’s forearm while she moved her wrist, slowly and a little shakily, wincing hard the whole time. 

“Stiff?” Eliot asked, and Parker shook her head. “Hurt?” 

Parker hesitated. Suddenly she snatched her arm back and held it against her chest, her other hand coming up to cover her wrist. 

“I can take care of myself!” she snapped. 

Eliot closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Listen,” he said when he had a better grip on himself. “You got a sprained wrist, Park. Maybe broken. Now, I’ve seen what you got in your warehouse, an’ it’s not what you need to take care of this. An’ if you don’t take care of it, it’ll just get worse an’ keep you outta commission longer, an’ we  _ both  _ know you don’t want that.” 

He crossed his arms and waited for her to think that through. She squinted mistrustfully at him and he shrugged and got to his feet. 

“Up to you. I’m goin’ to get supplies, you do whatever the hell you want.” 

He walked to the bathroom where he kept all of his medical supplies in a big, well-labeled organizer in the cabinet. He stooped and rummaged through until he found everything, then grabbed two bottles of pills and went back into the kitchen area. Parker still sat at the table, though she had pulled her feet up under her in the chair and she rested her wrist on the table again. Her shoulders were tight and she looked like she was taking deep breaths. 

Eliot chose not to comment, he just deposited the stuff on the table and went to grab a pillow from off the couch and a glass of water. 

He heard the rattle of a bottle of pills as he filled up a glass at the spigot on the fridge. 

“Anti-inflammatory and pain reliever,” he explained. “Pain reliever is optional, anti-inflammatory isn’t.” 

“They make me woozy,” Parker complained as Eliot put the glass in front of her. 

“The anti-inflammatory?” Eliot asked. He shook his head as he carefully lifted Parker’s arm and positioned the pillow underneath her wrist. “They won’t. It’s what I take after I get hurt bad.” 

Parker squinted at the bottle, then put it down and slid it back across the table with the other supplies. Eliot sat back down and held out his hands. She hesitated, then lifted up her arm and put it back in his hands. 

“You never answered me a minute ago,” he reminded her. “Did it hurt when you moved it around?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How much? One to ten.” 

Parker shrugged. “Six?” 

Eliot nodded and carefully turned her hand over again. The bruises were darker, and Eliot pursed his lips. 

“Fingers numb or tingly?” he asked. 

Parker wiggled her fingers and shook her head. 

“Can you make a fist?” 

She tried her damnedest, but she stopped just shy of it, wincing. 

Eliot positioned his hand at her palm and held her forearm with his other hand. “Push against my hand.” She did, and it was weak. He put his hand on the back of hers. “Other way.” It was weak, and he could have sworn he heard her whimper ever so slightly. 

He glanced around and made sure there wasn’t anything sharp within reach. “Alright, this part’s gonna hurt.” Parker’s eyes widened. “I’m gonna hafta poke around on your arm.” 

“I don’t like being touched,” Parker complained. 

“I know,” Eliot said. “I know. We can take a break whenever you need one.” 

She thought about it for a second, then shook her head. “Not yet.” 

“Alright. Tell me when it hurts,” Eliot instructed, then hesitated. “Don’t hit me,” he said, then started prodding around her wrist with light fingers. 

Parker hissed when he got to a spot near the base of her thumb. “There! There!” she spat, and looked like she was about to pull her arm back, but when he backed off she relaxed a little. 

“Sorry,” Eliot mumbled, genuinely feeling bad for hurting her. He resumed prodding at her wrist, turning it over to poke at the underside. She pointed out a couple more tender spots, but none as bad as the first. 

When he was done, Eliot put her arm back onto the pillow. “That part’s done, you can rest a minute.” 

“Is it broken?” Parker asked, looking pale and tired. 

“Don’t think so,” Eliot answered as he sorted through the supplies next to him. “I don’t have an x-ray machine to check for sure.” 

“I don’t want to go to the doctor,” Parker said quickly. 

Eliot frowned at her. “I’ll be able to tell a little better after a while, if the swelling goes down or not after icing it, but if it’s a really bad sprain or an avulsion fracture you’re gonna have to go to the doctor.” 

Parker shook her head hard. “Can’t you just…” she gestured to the supplies with her good hand, “fix it?” 

Eliot let out a laugh. “I can fix a lot of things here, Park, but I can’t do orthopedic surgery. Most I can manage surgery-wise is bullet extractions.” 

Parker sat back heavily and made a grumpy noise. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Eliot said, then pointed to each thing as he talked about it. “We’re gonna wrap up your wrist, you’re gonna take an anti-inflammatory and maybe a pain pill, an’ we’re gonna ice your wrist for a little while. An’ then we’ll look at it again an’ see if we’re going to the doctor.” 

He didn’t give her any room to object, because as far as he was concerned those were the bare bones of treatment. He may not be big on doctors either, but he at least knew how to take care of his injuries  _ and then actually did. _

He waited until she nodded that she understood, and then he started prepping his materials. 

The first item was a preformed aluminum and foam splint that would go on the underside of her wrist. It was sized for him, but malleable, so he bent it a little before testing it against her arm. 

“You just had that already?” Parker asked. 

“I buy ‘em in bulk,” Eliot explained. When she looked amused he shrugged. “I get hurt a lot.” 

He bent it until it was the right shape for her arm, then got out an extra long ace bandage. Parker grimaced. 

“I hate those,” she complained. 

“Too bad,” he said, and started wrapping her wrist, securing the splint to her arm, careful not to wrap too tight. When he reached the end of the bandage he fastened the little clips to keep it secure. 

Parker frowned at the splint as he twisted the cap off the anti-inflammatory pill bottle and shook out one dose. He handed the pills to her and slid the water across the table, and she grimaced before taking the pills. 

He got up and went to the fridge to get a couple of ice packs. He’d just opened the drawer that held dish towels to wrap the ice packs with when he heard a faint but distinct  _ plink! _ as something small and metallic hit his kitchen table. 

“Parker, I swear to God,” he said without turning around. “I  _ will  _ give you a fiberglass cast if you don’t keep that splint on. I have the materials. Don’t test me.” 

Parker let out a  _ hmph _ , and he grabbed a towel and headed back, wrapping the ice in the blue fabric as he went. He found one of the bandage fasteners on the table and stuck it firmly back onto the bandage before handing over the ice. 

“Stick that on there,” he told her. “Twenty on, one hour off. We’re gonna do that twice, and then I’ll unwrap you and look again.” 

“That’s so looong,” she complained, throwing her head back. “I want to go home.” 

Eliot sighed heavily. “Well,” he said, “you don’t get to yet. You have to put up with me a little longer.” 

Parker made a face and Eliot’s patience almost went out the window. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty. 

“Listen,” he said, pulling out his chair again and sitting, tapping the table with his fingers to make his points. “I’m just tryin’ to help, Parker, and sometimes I gotta bully you to keep you healthy. It’s like when I make you an’ Hardison eat vegetables. I don’t want you to get rickets or scurvy or whatever.” 

Parker narrowed her eyes. “Why do you care?” 

Eliot sighed, feeling a pang of sadness he couldn’t quite place. “‘Cuz we’re friends. Friends help each other, Park.” 

Parker thought about that and seemed to accept it. She smiled softly, and Eliot thought that maybe they were having a moment. 

Then her smile turned sardonic and the moment was gone. “Friends don’t grab their friends’ sprained wrists to make them run faster,” she said, cradling her wrist close, sticking her bottom lip out and making puppy eyes. 

Eliot rolled his eyes and got up. “First and foremost my job is keepin’ you from gettin’ shot,” he said, starting to gather up the leftover supplies. “Forgive me for not gettin’ out my first aid kit while twenty ex-CIA dudes had crosshairs on us.” 

Eliot had lied about not having a TV, but the one he did have was small and didn’t get cable, so he shoved his collection of DVDs in front of Parker for her to choose from. She chose  _ Ocean's Eleven _ and stretched out on Eliot’s couch, a pillow on her stomach and her hurt arm resting on top of that. Eliot watched from his big, comfy armchair. 

A while into the movie he went over and took the ice pack from Parker, intending to put it back in the freezer and begin the “one hour off” part of the treatment. As he walked away from Parker he felt a tug at his jeans, like something had caught on his back pocket. Parker made a frustrated noise and Eliot turned around, in the process dislodging her wrapped hand from the back of his jeans. 

“You tryin’ to lift my wallet with a splint on your wrist?” he asked, more than a little amused. 

Parker scowled. “I hate this thing. There’s no range of motion!” 

Eliot shook his head as he continued into the kitchen. “That’s the  _ point.” _

He found himself not feeling particularly bad that Parker’s favorite party trick was hindered by the splint. He’d had to leave the grocery store without buying anything more than his fair share of times because she’d stolen his wallet. She always gave it back, or rather, she broke into his house or car to leave it for him, all the money and cards untouched, but it was usually a few days later. He’d actually taken to keeping some spare cash in his boots just in case she tried again. 

When the movie was almost over, Eliot replaced Parker’s ice pack while she griped about the inaccuracies of the fictional team’s plan. She’d sat up on the couch and he sat at the other end for the rest of the movie, pointing out weak spots in the team’s security. 

As the credits rolled Eliot bullied Parker into returning to the kitchen table so he could look at her wrist. 

“We should pull that same heist,” Parker said as Eliot unfastened the clips holding the bandage closed. 

Eliot shrugged, his eyes on his work, rolling the bandage back up as he unwrapped her wrist. “We don’t need the money.” 

Parker scoffed. “Of  _ course _ we need the money. But it would mostly be for fun.” 

“We’d need a few more people,” Eliot said. 

Parker turned thoughtful. “I guess we could get Tara… Maybe Apollo.” 

Eliot stayed quiet as he unwrapped the last couple of layers holding the splint to her arm. When her arm was free he peered at it. 

“Lemme see your other hand,” he said, and Parker put her other arm on the table so Eliot could compare them. The swelling had gone down a little, but her right wrist was still more puffy than her left. 

“Feel any better?” he asked. 

Parker shrugged but didn’t speak. 

“...Is that a no?” Eliot asked. 

“Kinda,” Parker said. “The cold felt good and it stopped hurting for a while, but it’s hurting again now.” 

Eliot frowned. That wasn’t… a great sign. “Any different from before?” 

“It’s a little better, I think,” Parker said with another shrug. 

He had her repeat all the movement tests he’d done earlier, with little difference, except that her pushes against his hand were maybe a little _too_ weak. 

Eliot sighed. “I don’t know what to tell ya,” he said. “I can’t tell if it’s a bad sprain or a break. You got a bigger range of motion than is really normal, but you got that in all your joints and unevenly so I can’t tell if it’s the injury or not.” 

Parker nodded slowly. 

Eliot braced himself. “I think we gotta get you to a doctor,” he said. 

Parker started complaining and refusing immediately, but Eliot just started rewrapping her wrist. She let him, but kept up a steady stream of complaints, only letting up when Eliot’s phone rang. 

“Yeah,” he said after answering the phone, tucking it between his ear and shoulder so he could keep working with both hands. 

_ “Is Parker okay?”  _ Sophie asked without a greeting. She sounded worried. 

Eliot made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “She hurt her wrist gettin’ out of the building. Either a bad sprain or a fracture,” he said, keeping his explanation short. “Can’t tell beyond that. We’re headed off to a doctor soon.” 

Sophie was quiet for a moment.  _ “Can’t imagine she’s too happy about that.” _

Eliot chuckled. “Nope.” 

He finished rewrapping the splint and fastened it, then took the phone in hand again. Parker started picking at the edge of the bandage and Eliot shook his head at her. 

_ “Well, you needn’t worry about the cocktail party,”  _ Sophie said.  _ “Hendricks is conveniently ill and the whole thing was cancelled.”  _

“Alright,” Eliot said. “Let us know.” 

_ “Of course. Take care of her, Eliot,” _ Sophie said. 

“I’m tryin’.” 

When he hung up he started dialling another number and Parker narrowed her eyes. 

“Callin’ my doctor,” he explained as he put the phone to his ear. “Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t do paperwork, doesn’t bullshit.” 

Parker looked impressed and gestured for Eliot to get on with it. 

In the end, Dr. Larson told them Parker hadn’t broken her wrist and wouldn’t need surgery, and Parker’s triumphant laughing almost scared him off. As Eliot slipped him an extra wad of hundreds for his trouble, he saw Parker lifting the doctor’s wallet smoothly out of the corner of his eye. 

With her left hand. 


End file.
